


Women of Revolution: Horse Breeder

by Corycides



Series: Women of Revolution [1]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:19:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite the fact that women are recruited into the militia, we never seem to see any of them. Assuming that General Monroe isn’t keeping them in a pen outside, what are they doing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Women of Revolution: Horse Breeder

The foal was dead, the mare was alive and Beth’s hands were sticky with blood. She stood in her office and scrubbed her hands in a bucket of cold, lye-stinging water, scraping under her nails and up her goose-pimpled arms to her elbows. The lye didn’t cover the copper-sweet stink of blood, just mixed with it.

Her hands finally stopped shaking, although they were red-raw and her cuticles swollen and ragged. Fifteen years without a manicure and even Fairy’s kind touch wasn’t going to do anything for you.

And she was part of the 1%. Or whatever the equivalent was these days. Think about that, she spent her days mucking out stalls and killing foals. and a lot of people still wished they were her.

She dragged her chair out from her desk and sat down, grabbing her ledger and flicking through the pages. A red x meant a bad cross and there were a few of them. She wasn’t exactly a geneticist, she was a middle-class kid who’d had a pony. Trying to rebuild a pool of working horses out of specialized pleasure stock wasn’t easy.

Unfortunately, this was a bit more complicated. She scored out the mare’s name – the easy part, she was a nice enough mare for the militia – and then chewed the pencil end to splinters.

It wasn’t just that she liked – had liked – Gautier and his family. She didn’t particularly care for dealing with the proper militia. Technically – very technically – she was a Captain. She’d even learnt how to shoot a gun. That was all for form.

Had to be done though, otherwise someone would find out and it would be her ass on the chopping block.

 

‘Sir,’ Beth said, remembering to salute.

Monroe looked up from his maps and stared at her like he didn’t remember her, then the expression smoothed away into that smile. The one that made everyone do stupid things just because, for about a week afterwards, it seemed like a great idea.

‘Elizabeth,’ he said, standing up. ‘You look well.’

She grimaced and shoved her hands behind her back awkwardly. Like he’d care. Rumour had it he kept some woman locked up, only him and Stausser had even seen her. And no-one was interested enough to talk to Strausser.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said.

He lifted a jug of water and cocked an eyebrow at her. She shook a mute refusal and tried not to shuffle.

‘So?’ he asked. ‘How’s the breeding programme going?’

She grimaced and clenched her hands. ‘Bad.’ He frowned and she reordered her explanation quickly. ‘Generally good, I mean. We’re turning out good warm bloods and I finally found someone with mule experience.’

Monroe held up a hand to shut her up. Probably because he didn’t want to hear about the joys of mules again. 

‘And the problem.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Lethal White Syndrome,’ she said.

‘And that’s …bad?’

‘Dead foals,’ she said. ‘Lots of them. It’s genetic and the stock Guatier sold us has it. We’ve had two dead so far and three of the other mares were already pregnant, so…’

The pleasant expression melted off his face. Monroe didn’t like being taken for a fool.

‘He knew?’

‘Bought them from Plains,’ she said. ‘Had them at least a year. He had to have thrown one dead colt in that time.’

‘Should you have known?’

She shrugged miserably. ‘No papers anymore, no genetic testing. The horses are still sound, but not for breeding stock. Without any way to track the carriers, I’m not using ‘em.’

It took an hour of discussion to decide where to send the horses and what to do with Gautier – and where to get new stock. Finally it was all ironed out. Beth got up to leave and paused as Monroe chuckled.

‘I never planned on running an militia,’ he told her. ‘If I had? I think there would have been a lot more loose ladies and drinking, a lot less horse sex and grain.’

She smiled – because it was funny, because he expected her to – and left.


End file.
